Is it over? Tell me it’s over. Are we done with the sob-stories? The banal background music? Look at the picture above – this man has the balls to give others crap about their tan! They don’t even allow instruments – read as: talent! Can I stop watching now? Don’t even answer that, because it doesn’t matter. This is how this reality TV shit works: I’m invested.
I want to see how magnanimous Lacey will fare on her second try, or if roided-out Michael can keep up the teddy-bear routine. I want to see if one of the kids makes it through Hollywood week without having to call their mummy, if Hope can build-up her soft voice, or if Didi will make her late best-friend proud. I want to see if Aaron, the only grateful teenager in the world, will fulfill the potential of his soulful voice. Fine, evil ones, you’ve got me hooked on [[American Idol (2010 Series)|Idol]]…
…but there are some people I do not look forward to seeing again, or certainly will not miss. Drama Queen Amanda can take a running jump with her Golden Ticket, for all I care. She’s faker than Randy’s street language and has that classic shtick of a woman who acts like a sweet little sugar-plum, but would eat you, and your children if you ever crossed her. I will not miss large, effeminate Adrian who wants everyone to have his number. I will not miss Kimberley, who wants to recycle and help kids in Africa, apparently. Despite her support of generic causes, judging by her singing, she’d be as welcome in Africa as Apartheid. Neither will I miss Shaddai, who’s mother received a vision from the Lord that she was to be a singer. Let me tell you something, love. The Lord was talking shite.
Finally, out of the 100’000 hopefuls, there’s no way I’ll miss Stephanie, the seven time loser who has a, wait for it, CRUSH on [[Simon Cowell]], and worse still, thinks Posh is a “beautiful creature”.
What. The. F**k?